


The More Things Change

by Barb Cummings (Rahirah)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Gen, kind of shippy if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-07 00:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18399629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahirah/pseuds/Barb%20Cummings
Summary: Buffy Summers has an almost British talent for repression.





	The More Things Change

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet was written for an informal challenge I posed for myself: I asked people to give me prompts for pairings I didn't like and/or didn't get. I really tried, but I couldn't get from canon to to full-fledged shippiness within the length limits I'd set myself.

They've been poring over the paperwork for hours. Deeds, plans, schematics, bank records, spread higgledy-piggledy over the wood-grain of the Motel 6 table. All that's left of the Watcher's Council. Willow ferrets out more documents every day, and whether the magic she uses to do so involves spells or cracking software, Giles hasn't cared to ask. Only scavenger's scraps, he assures Buffy, but she's nonetheless impressed at the number of zeros they have at their disposal. 

She's sitting in the hotel chair (scratchy, mustard yellow), poring over the papers for a Swiss account. "I should have hit them up for a salary myself," she mutters.

(Perhaps she's a trifle bitter, and perhaps he can't blame her.)

"I think they've been punished sufficiently for their lapse." His tone's a touch more acid than intended. She looks up, startled, and bites her lip. 

(Perhaps he's a trifle bitter, too. Nor can she blame him.)

Un-made-up, the circles beneath her eyes are darker than he remembers, and fine lines that she's surely too young for etch her frown. "I..."

Their eyes meet. "Yes, well." And that's as close as they'll ever get to "I'm sorry your entire life got blown up and I didn't really care," and "I'm sorry I abandoned you when you needed me most," in so many words. Really, Buffy Summers has an almost British talent for repression. 

"We can do it, then," Buffy says, back to business. Her voice is husky from lack of sleep. She's been so focused in the last week: Get the girls out of the ruins of Sunnydale. Find money. Find food. Find lodging. "Find all the new Slayers. And then - " Her sentence trails off uncertainly and she leans back in the scratchy yellow chair, as if without some goal to drive her, she fears that she will simply evaporate. 

"There are established procedures for inducting Potentials into Council training," Giles begins, almost gently, but she cuts him off, impatient.

"No. It's got to be different." She combs stray hair back from her forehead, plaiting the tawny locks with her fingers. "These girls have lives. Friends. Families. If that's what's made me strong, it would be stupid to tear it away from them. So it's got to be...I don't know. Different. Not the way you and I started out." 

"I see." The words hurt. More than he expected. It's understandable - the last two years have been full of betrayals and misunderstandings on both their parts - but it stings nonetheless. Buffy catches the distance in his voice and shakes her head in swift denial. 

"That's not what I mean. I mean... it needs to be more like the way we've ended up." She reaches across the table and lays her hand upon his, her grave gray eyes searching his face for a guidepost to her next words. "If there's one thing I've figured out, it's that I don't need a Watcher anymore. But I do need a Giles."

And he can see, suddenly, that things are different now. Very different indeed.

 

**End**


End file.
